The Shower
by 26Chapters
Summary: A short (re-post) fic on a stupid MiSa thing. Set after Eagles and Angels.


**So, the idea for this fic, originally comes from an ancient telenovela. The dialogue and the words are the only things that belong to me, of course I added tiny parts here and there, but...I thought it was sweetish in a way, and so wanted to share, I'm not sure you'll like it, but I had to post it anyway.**

She knew something was wrong from the moment he walked into the warehouse. His face was pallid and the way in which he marched past them, past her, without so much as a look in her direction, gave it away. Michael was Michael, he always made a point of acknowledging her presence. A look here, a simple touch there, and often a feeble smile, because of the weight he carried on his back. But the Michael who'd just entered the building, was not the usual Michael she was used to.

'What happened?' she asked Lincoln as he sank into the sofa beside her. The older brother of Michael ran his hands down his bald head repeatedly, it looked to Sara like he was trying to get rid of a stubborn itch without actually scratching.

'Lincoln?' she prodded. He let out a sigh, mumbling something like, 'We didn't get the card,' and standing up from the sofa. She watched him leave, and she looked around for the rest of the team, none of them presented as willing to talk about it. Sara set her cell phone aside, and got up, she'd find Michael instead.

She found him in the bathroom. Well, she knew it had to be him as he was neither in her boat, nor their sleeping place, and the rest of the team was still in the open area. The running shower water shut off at the same time she shut the door behind her. Pulling a towel from the rail, she walked to the shower cubicle, the only one that was closed. Sara drew the curtain back to reveal an annoyed looking Michael, but his face softened when he saw it was her.

'Hey,' she said quietly. Her eyes surveyed him quickly from head to mid-section, halting there briefly enough to produce an appreciative smile.

'Sara,' he acknowledged, and seeing the towel in her hand, he reached out to get it from her. Sara pulled it from his reach.

'What's wrong?' she stepped into the shower, he stepped back.

'Nothing,' he said, running a hand though his face. She studied his face for a while, saying nothing.

'Lincoln said you didn't get the card. Tell me what happened Michael.' Her eyes pleaded with him. Giving in with a long sigh, he started to explain all the ways acquiring the card had gone wrong. As he spoke, she used the towel to wipe the drops away from his upper body, going gently in circles, clearing the liquid of his naked skin. He finished narrating with a defeated sigh. She knew it frustrated him that they didn't get the card, it only meant more planning, and more time on the exhausting Scylla project. She continued to wipe at his skin even after he stopped talking, until he was dry. He waited for her to say something.

'In Fox River,' she placed the towel in his hand, 'what did you do when you failed?'

At first, he only wrapped the towel around him, but then he looked up at her face, 'I looked for another way.'

'Exactly,' she smiled a small smile, meant for encouragement, her arm going around his neck, 'We'll get it next time.' She completed the promise by pulling his face to her, and planting a soft kiss on his lips. Instead of letting her pull away, Michael trapped her lips with his own in a deep kiss.

'Thank you,' he said to her, after she pulled herself free from the kiss.

'What for?'

'For being here,' he said, 'for this.' Sara only pulled him close into her neck. He was right, this, what she did for him, was just so random, that it gave her hope for a normal life, a life where she would kiss his frustration away, and make him normal again.

'You're welcome,' she said. She didn't tell him that he was the only reason she did anything these days anymore.

**Honestly, in the telenovela, it was way cuter, and it wasn't exactly like this, but I messed it up anyway, because I'm just so bad at writing. Does anyone want to trade their writing skills with mine (so you can perfect them and return them to me?)**


End file.
